


The Perks of Dating Bucky Barnes

by severity_softly



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Disability, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Longing, M/M, Nightmares, Physical Disability, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Regret, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-05-05 21:22:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14627301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/severity_softly/pseuds/severity_softly
Summary: After the events of Civil War, Bucky opts not to go back in the freeze, but to live with Steve. Months later, by Christmas, they're a couple. And they're happy, but still dealing with the ghosts of the past.





	The Perks of Dating Bucky Barnes

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic in the fandom, so I hope you enjoy! Also, thank you to eternallysoft for encouraging my love of this ship!

"Kids today dunno how to dance anymore," Bucky observes, sitting at a small table with Steve.

They aren't at Stark's Christmas party, for obvious reasons. Bucky still hates how much Steve has sacrificed for him, still feels the weight of it, even when Steve assures him he wouldn't change anything.

"Should we show 'em how it's done?"

Bucky looks over at him, lips quirking up at the corner. "You learned to _dance_ in the last seventy years?" It would have been much less than seventy, as Steve had probably spent as much time on ice as Bucky, if not more, but there's a touch of humor to cover up the pain when put that way.

Steve huffs. "No," he admits softly, but his gaze is warm. "You miss it?"

"Yeah," Bucky says, without hesitation. Sometimes he feels like the two of them are alone in crowded rooms. No one else understands, or has the same frame of reference for this world. Except maybe the rare ninety year olds at the VA. Or so it seems, from what Steve's told him, but the VA doesn't really feel like it's a place for Bucky after everything he's done, veteran or not.

The left sleeve of his shirt is folded under and sewn closed. In the forties, men came home from war with missing limbs and owned it like a badge of honor. It hasn't failed to escape Bucky's notice that Steve is one of the few people who hasn't asked him when he's replacing the arm. He will never be the war hero he might've been a long time ago had fate been more kind, but this feels closer to what he was supposed to be instead of the thing he became. _The thing he still is_ , because it's all still inside him, just under the surface. All the more reason to wait to replace the arm.

And he will one day. Because more danger will come for them, and he'll wind up following his idiot partner _\--is that what he was now? 'Boyfriend' still sounds strange to Bucky's ears--_ into another war of some sort. Because Steve can't help himself, and neither can Bucky, when it comes to Steve.

He realizes he's drifted into silence, lost in thought, and sucks in a sharp breath through his nose to help bring him back to the present. He's not surprised that Steve seems to understand. "It gets easier." 

Bucky nods. He may have been away from HYDRA for two years before Steve found him again, and he's done a lot of adjusting, but that hadn't been a life. That had be running. Hiding. Isolation. _This_ is harder.

"We could still dance, even if it's not like it used to be for you," Steve suggests. "And you could teach me later."

Bucky huffs. "I should have taught you when we were still kids." He knew he didn't have to specify that he meant in private. "Woulda been a helluva lot easier to throw you over my back back then." Steve laughs and Bucky half smiles, looking at him sideways.

"Why didn't you?"

"I was scared." It's easy enough to say with no one else to hear, the sound of the crowd around them turning to white noise that drowns out their quiet conversation. But it's not an admission Bucky would make to anyone but Steve, and he can tell by Steve's response, he knows that.

Steve straightens a little, blinking, but there's no judgement in his gaze. "And here I thought you were invincible when we were kids," he teases, smiling sadly. "I didn't think you were scared of _anything_."

Bucky huffs a not-quite-unhappy laugh. He hadn't been scared of much, but the things he'd been scared of--mostly things he wanted and didn't think he could ever have--he'd kept well hidden. From everyone.

He shakes his head slightly. "No, that was always you."

 

~*~*~*~

 

"Thanks," Bucky says, and he means it, even if… "I didn't get you anything." Christmases haven't been important to him for so long he's forgotten how to do them, he thinks. He doesn't _feel_ much about them anymore, if he's honest, and that's probably something broken inside him because it feels like he's the only one that doesn't care.

He's holding the t-shirt Sam gave him in his hand, and Sam just shrugs, obviously unconcerned he wasn't getting anything in return. The shirt design is meant to imitate the top half of Steve's Captain America costume, and Bucky has every intention of actually wearing it at home, even if Sam meant it as a joke. He hears Steve huff, and something about the way the smile on Sam's face turns smug makes Bucky glance over to see Sam also got Steve a t-shirt. It's white, and in large black letters across the front it reads:

**THE PERKS OF DATING BUCKY BARNES:  
1\. _________________________________**

Sam has obviously had it made, as opposed to his own gift that could have been purchased anywhere. Bucky's lips twist and he nods in mock resignation. "Oh. You didn't _deserve_ anything," he says, looking back at Sam, amusement in his eyes even if he's not smiling. Sam's head tips back as he laughs, and Bucky can feel Steve's smile against his cheek when he kisses it.

 

 

Later that night, when Steve comes into the kitchen with his shirt, Bucky's sitting on the counter with a coffee, because coffee is and always has been appropriate for all hours of the day. He's wearing boxers and his own new shirt. "I didn't realize we were 'dating'," he says casually. "I haven't been taken on any dates."

Steve snorts. "Semantics... And I know how to fix this." Bucky glances over as Steve spreads the shirt flat on the counter near his hip and grabs a sharpie. He uncaps it and writes on the shirt, above the blank line: _Great ass_. 

Before he can stop himself, Bucky is laughing softly, and Steve's own smile is happy. "I just can't wear it in public now," he says with a small shrug before tugging Bucky down for a soft kiss. When he pulls back, his thumb traces the corner of Bucky's lips and he's giving that look Bucky knows means he's happy that he's pulled more than just a small smile from him. "Worth it," he murmurs, and moves in front of Bucky to lean in for another kiss, but Bucky pulls away.

"Wait, you were gonna wear it in public _the way it was?_ " he asks, giving Steve a mock disapproving frown, and Steve just hums a thoughtful noise, shifting between Bucky's legs and demanding another kiss. Bucky sets his coffee on the counter and wraps his arm around Steve's shoulders as his legs hook around Steve's waist. "You're avoiding my question," he breathes, but he doesn't think he minds as Steve slides him off the counter to carry him to bed.

 

~*~*~*~

 

_Longing. Rusted. Furnace…_

The words are in Russian, and his heart is thudding painfully in his chest. He can barely move, but he's still struggling against the metal that has hands and legs clamped down.

_Daybreak. Seventeen. Benign. Nine…_

He screams, the metal arm breaking his constraints first, then helping free his other hand.

_Homecoming. One…_

It's too late. It's like he can feel his soul being sucked from his body, and he can't stop it. He can't catch his breath.

 _Freight car_ , he thinks, but doesn't hear because he's gasping, shooting bolt upright in bed with a shout he doesn't quite process. He shaking, covered in sweat, but all he feels are hands on him, and he throws his fist back. There's a crack against the back of his hand as it connects, then a muffled sound of pain behind him. Bucky jerks away, getting tangled in the sheets and dropping hard to the floor. _So much for graceful._ But the absence of very controlled reflexes, along with the painful crack of hardwood against his hip, remind him he's not the Winter Soldier right now, and he briefly curls into a fetal position and lets out his own pained moan.

Once it passes, he rolls onto his back, eyes wild and wide as he stares at the ceiling and tries to catch his breath. His gasping is all he hears for a minute, until slowly Steve's voice creeps in. "Bucky… Buck…" Bucky turns his head to see Steve at the edge of the bed, watching him with concern. There's blood around his nose and smeared across the back of his fingers.

"Shit." Bucky closes his eyes, letting out a slow breath. "S'okay. I know where I am now," he says, and his voice is rougher than it should be. He wonders if he'd been screaming out loud even before he woke up. He doesn't know, but Steve is moving close now with the blankets he's pulling from the bed, urging Bucky to sit up and wrapping them around them both. He's shivering. He didn't notice that before. "I'm sorry."

"I know better than to grab you when you're like that," Steve says, sounding sleepy, but annoyed with himself.

Bucky hates it. Steve has given up so much for him so many times. How bad was it this time that Steve forgot how dangerous he could still be? Or… how bad was it that he remembered and didn't care?

The silence stretches for a few moments. 

"What… what happens if the sequence completes next time?" he breathes.

"Nothing," Steve says. His hand is stroking Bucky's hair. He knows without asking what Bucky means, because that string of words is almost always what causes Bucky to wake up like this these days. They haunt him. And he doesn't know if they will do anything to him if he's only dreaming, but it still terrifies him.

"You don't know that," he says.

"I know I don't," Steve says, gently pulling Bucky's head against his shoulder, and Bucky allows it. "But there won't be anyone here to... give you orders."

"That doesn't guarantee I won't kill anyone. Anything could resurface."

"Whatever happens, I'll handle it." Steve's arms tighten.

Bucky's frown deepens. "You shouldn't _have_ to," he snaps.

"I _don't_ have to." Steve's tone isn't as gentle as it was just seconds ago.

Bucky expels a breath, shaking his head and then dragging his hand over his face. He needs to calm down. Not take this out on Steve. "You should have let them take me out," he says, sounding defeated.

It only makes Steve's tone a little harder, slightly defensive. "Are we gonna fight about this again?"

So much for calm. " _Maybe we should._ " Bucky turns a weak glare on Steve, but all he sees when he looks at him is the blood around his nose. "Why th'hell did you grab me?"

Steve hesitates. "You were yelling."

That confirmed Bucky's suspicions. He doesn't want to ask the next question, but he does anyway, shoulders tense. "What was I saying?"

There is a longer moment of hesitation, and Steve doesn't speak until Bucky lifts his hand and inclines his head as it to say _tell me already_. "I don't know. You were speaking Russian."

Bucky's body goes instantly cold, enough to prompt a shiver he knows they both feel. "I need some water," he spits out, then gets up and leaves the room, taking the sheets and blankets with him. 

When he gets to the kitchen, he braces himself against the counter a moment to try to calm down, then decides coffee is better than water. He's got the container of coffee grounds planted between his hip and the counter so he can unscrew the top when he hears Steve's footsteps. He still feels like he can't think straight. "You should go back to bed. I won't be able t'sleep again tonight."

"I can't," Steve says, the gentle tone having returned.

Bucky sighs, returning the coffee container to the counter. "Honestly, don't let my shit infect you too. I can't keep being your burden."

"No, I mean I can't because you have all the blankets." There's a hint of a smile in Steve's voice now.

When Bucky turns, he sees affection in Steve's gaze and it makes his chest ache. "C'mere," he mutters, turning to grab a paper towel and running it under the tap briefly. Turning back, Steve's right there, and he dabs at the blood around his nose, cleaning it up. Steve flinches with a slight hiss and Bucky snorts. "You're milkin' it now." It's a tease, even if his tone is flat, and Steve laughs softly. His hands grip the edges of the blankets and he pulls Bucky close. "Your hand."

"I can clean myself up."

"Didn't say you couldn't. Give me your hand." It doesn't make up for anything he's done. It doesn't make up for all the times his hands have hurt Steve with unapologetic brutality. But he can't do anything about the past now. All he can do is make _some_ attempt to control the present.

Steve sighs, but holds his hand up for Bucky to wipe up the rest of the blood before tossing the paper towel into the trash. He wraps the blankets around Steve when he's pulled into an embrace. Steve sighs. "You're not my burden. You're the most important person in my life."

"How many times av'I gotta punch you to change that?" he jokes, darkly.

Steve huffs, but he's interlacing their fingers and lifting their joined hands toward their shoulders. And then they're swaying. They're… _dancing_. Sort of. It's a slow circle, and Bucky can't help but notice Steve's hand on his waist or that he's moving _backwards_ , but... he doesn't mind. 

Steve presses his cheek to Bucky's before settling into a rhythm. "There isn't a number high enough, Buck."


End file.
